“Go,” Kodesh said gently. “Go back the way you entered, through the tunnel, and find them. If you come first to Noirceuil, as he is hunting you, use that to draw Montrovant’s attention.”
“And if we draw too much attention?” Fleurette’s voice was smoother now, cooler. Her eyes did not drop when Kodesh turned to catch her once more in his gaze.
“Then you had better be prepared to fight, young one,” he replied with a smile. “Noirceuil will not be impressed with your fancy new blood. He will want to prevent you from damning any more souls.”
Fleurette nodded, and as Abraham watched in consternation, she turned from the ancient without a backward glance and headed toward the passageway through which they’d entered. He watched her for a moment, then turned back to the table as Kodesh started laughing again.
“You’d better catch her, friend Abraham,” Kodesh cackled, “she doesn’t appear to be waiting for you.”
Abraham turned and quickly followed Fleurette into the passage and down the stairs, quickening his steps as the mad laughter rang out behind him. Everything about the way he thought and felt had changed in a single instant. He had yearned and waited, dreamed and now…now it was his. The gift. He was one of them, and there was no chance to savor it. He could sense things around him acutely. He could feel how the hunger, so maddening before, had peeled back. It was there, but so faint, so tiny that it was difficult at first to recognize it as the hunger at all.
Fleurette had no experience to gauge it against, but still her actions were aggravating. As she reached the bottom of the second stair and headed around the curve in the passage back toward the tunnel, he took her by the shoulder suddenly, spinning her to face him. He did not speak at first, only met her steady gaze.
“What are you doing?” he asked her after a moment of silence. “Why do you just walk away?”
“If I could truly walk away, I would do so now,” she spat at him. “You have twice, in less than the span of a single week, altered my fate without a choice on my behalf. I came here because your will compelled me, and with my new hunger, I needed your teaching, your support. You would have abandoned me here as surely as we speak. Then, in a fit of guilt at my accusations, all true, you drag me into this as well. Did you ask if I wished to be granted this gift? You did not.”
“I…” He stared at her, and for the second time that night, realized she was right. “I am sorry,” he said, too late, and too pointlessly.
Turning from him, she made her way to the tunnel entrance and pulled the stone slab aside, peering into the darkness beyond. “We will discuss it when this is done,” she said in a toneless voice. “I feel that the hold you had on me has been broken. We may need to test that.”
Then she was gone, crawling swiftly into the tunnel, and Abraham was left to follow as he could, hoping her anger did not rush them both into something they were not prepared to face. The worst of it was the knowledge that she did not appear to care if she did so or not. For her, Noirceuil might be the best answer of all. At least his mind was clear and focused.
The shadows swallowed them quickly.
SEVENTEEN
Noirceuil returned to the small cave’s entrance immediately after the sun had set, as Lacroix had known he would. There were no words spoken, but the hunter crouched immediately at the entrance. Lacroix himself had been awake for only moments, the rigors of their journey having caught up with him finally and bringing a long, sound sleep. Possibly the last for some time to come.
Noirceuil sniffed at the opening, started slightly, shifting back on his heels, his head swaying from side to side. He had the aspect of an animal that had lost the scent, and that bothered Lacroix more than anything since the two had become partners. Something was wrong, or at the very least not as Noirceuil had expected. Theirs was a precise art. If their enemy got even a moment’s advantage, it could easily be the last moment of their existence.
Without hesitation Lacroix pulled back against the stone where he’d been sleeping, drawing his weapon and scanning the shadows surrounding the small clearing with narrowed eyes.
“What is it?” he called out softly.
Noirceuil did not answer immediately. When at last he nodded, moving back from the entrance, his voice was low. “They are not there. They may have come back this way, or gone in deeper. I can’t be certain. I think I detect them here…in the past hour or so, but it is too weak a trail to be certain.”
Noirceuil turned to Lacroix, eyes blazing, “Why did you not watch the entrance?”
Lacroix’s eyes narrowed as he watched his partner back away from the cave entrance. “You were not back yet, and I have never seen one of them before I saw you. I did not think it was late enough to worry yet.”
Noirceuil looked about ready to say something more, then stopped, cocking his head to one side.
“Well, they are gone. We can’t rule out the idea that they rise earlier than most, and that they may be out here with us.”
The hunter cursed quietly, scanning the shadows. Lacroix’s heart was calming somewhat. With Noirceuil back at his side, he at least felt on even ground with their prey, if they had not metamorphosed into the prey themselves. He’d seen too many fall to believe the odds were now stacked too heavily against them, but he hated being caught off guard. He also hated appearing as a fool, and Noirceuil’s expression moments before had called him that quite eloquently.
There was no movement anywhere near them, but something prickled along the hairs at the back of Lacroix’s neck, and he knew they were not alone. “They are here,” he breathed.
Noirceuil only nodded. He had shifted back against the stone, and his stance was that of an upright, coiled snake about to strike. There was no fear in him, no thought of defeat. He wanted only a target. Lacroix wasn’t as eager to meet vampires who could rise so early as his partner seemed to be, but he knew he’d be happier once he had them in sight. If he were to die, he preferred to see the instrument of that death.
Then there was a rustle to their left, and the wait was over. The girl stepped into full view, hands on her hips, staring at them as if they were vermin cowering in a corner of her kitchen.
Another sound to the right, and Abraham stood at the edge of the clearing as well, his eyes dark and unreadable. Noirceuil shifted back and forth, watching first one, then the other, poised.
Then Noirceuil stiffened.
“What is it?” Lacroix asked quickly. His first thought was that the two were not alone, and he shifted his gaze about the clearing wildly, but there were no others to see.
“Something is wrong,” Noirceuil said quietly. “They are not as they should be. They are stronger. Look at their skin…”
Lacroix did, forcing his gaze to cut the dim light He chose the girl, the more pleasant to look at. At first she looked no different than any girl, if a bit more pale, but he looked more closely. Noirceuil was not one to cry wolf if they did not face a wolf.
Then he noticed two things. First, the girl showed not the slightest trace of fear. By this time it was certain she knew who Noirceuil was, and why he had come after them, new as she was to her damnation. The other was that her skin was even more pale than he’d first believed, translucent and pale, her eyes glowing with a deep, inner light. Lacroix had seen plenty of vampires, but there was something different, wholly unnerving, in her aspect. He shifted his gaze to where Abraham had appeared, but there was no one there.
In that same instant, Noirceuil leapt from the stone, moving with uncanny speed toward where the girl still stood, staring at them. She did not move, and somehow that tipped Lacroix at the last second, and he lunged, trying to snatch his partner’s cape and knowing he was far too slow, and too late.
Abraham slid from the shadows like a dark knife, slicing into Noirceuil from the side and driving the hunter swiftly to the ground. The girl simply melted from sight, and as Lacroix heard a deep snarl of rage from his partner and an answering cry from the vampire, he shifted to his own right, divin
g and rolling along the wall of the cliff, eyes scanning the gathering darkness wildly.
Rising as quickly as he could into a crouch, he glanced back to where Noirceuil had met the shadows. Nothing. The two had rolled out of sight, and now Lacroix was alone. He drew the wooden blade he carried from its scabbard, worn close to his heart, and without thought his hand slipped up to grip the silver crucifix about his neck. He knew both were likely futile gestures if he could not at least catch sight of his prey, and the longer he went with no sound from his partner, the more certain he became that Noirceuil had finally met his match.
Then there was a sharp cry, and Lacroix knew the voice as Abraham’s from the first outcry earlier. It was a yelp of pain, and Lacroix moved. He didn’t know what was happening, but he did know that if he could keep Noirceuil alive, and by his side, he had a better chance of facing his judgment at St. Peter’s gate and less of meeting it in that dark clearing.
He moved close to the ground, watching warily for signs of the girl, and as he reached the line of trees, he plunged through with a soft curse, following the line the two antagonists had fallen along moments before. There was a sound ahead, scuffling feet, and another cry, this time Noirceuil. Lacroix moved quickly, breaking free of the trees once more to see Noirceuil and Abraham locked, hands on one another’s throats, eyes inches apart, rolling in the dirt.
Their exertion was plain to see, but what stopped Lacroix in his tracks was Noirceuil’s face. The eyes were deeper, wider, and glowed with a deep red hatred. The man’s hands, more like claws, latched on with equal ferocity to those of his foe. Lacroix stopped in his tracks, then took a step back.
“No,” Lacroix breathed.
Noirceuil heard him, turning those feral eyes toward his partner. “Get over here and help me, you fool,” he gasped.
Lacroix shook his head, not advancing. His lips were moving, but no sound was coming forth. Facts and events were clicking, placing themselves in his mind and memory, stealing his concentration.
“No,” he repeated. He backed another step, and it was then that he felt the soft brush of a hand on his shoulder.
Spinning, he saw the girl, hunger washing through her eyes, stepping closer, and he swung with his blade, meaning to drive it straight into her heart and to turn, running to his horse and then away down the mountain, to Rome, to wherever, anywhere but there.
She caught his wrist easily, twisting it and sending the sharp wooden knife flying off into the shadows with a contemptuous flick of her wrist. She seemed in no hurry to go to the aid of her partner, but was instead fixated on Lacroix, on his throat, the soft pulse of his blood growing stronger and wilder with each passing second.
She grabbed his wrist, dragging him to her breast with a sudden yank, and he nearly lost his footing.
“Dive, you fool,” Noirceuil hissed at his back.
He didn’t know what else to do, so he obeyed. As she dragged on his arm, he dove forward, passing her and leaving her grip as she spun after him, startled. He ignored his lost blade, spinning to the side and plunging into the shadows.
Behind him he heard her hiss once, heard several soft steps follow, then she stopped. The battle behind her must have been sliding in Noirceuil’s favor. She did not follow, and Lacroix was back to the clearing and moving toward his mount in a matter of seconds, Noirceuil, their mission, everything forgotten but flight.
He leaped to his saddle and spun the horse, dragging the reins free of where he’d secured them the night before. The animal, frightened, whinnied loudly and bucked, but Lacroix held on tightly, and moments later was flying through the trees, branches whipping and slapping at his arms and face. He prayed not to lose a knee against one of the trees as the horse plummeted through the darkness.
He hadn’t gone far when his mind registered another sound. He tried to focus, but the terror was gripping his thoughts, and he didn’t hear the pounding hooves until he burst onto the trail and nearly ran over St. Fond and du Puy, who shouted at him hoarsely. He noted them in passing, realizing who it must be, and spurred his mount to breakneck speed as he turned down the mountain. St. Fond turned as if to give chase, but du Puy shook his head, and the two turned instead to the side of the trail, retracing the path that Lacroix had taken out of the trees.
Down the trail, Montrovant and the others saw the man burst into sight, pounding down the trail straight at them, now screaming at the top of his lungs, and without a sound they moved aside.
Le Duc watched the mad horseman flash past them, and he glanced at Montrovant, a question in his eyes. The dark one shook his head.
“Let him go. It is whatever chases him we are concerned with.”
Turning upward once more, Montrovant drove his heels into his horse’s flanks and launched up the trail, shifting off to the side where his men had left the trail and plunged into the darkness. With a shrug, Jeanne and the others followed.
They burst into the clearing moments later to find a wild scene. Fleurette had dragged Noirceuil from Abraham roughly, but Abraham was slow in rising, and the hunter had turned on her, readying himself to strike.
In that moment, St. Fond and du Puy had burst from the trees, charging straight at the two antagonists. Abraham, though injured, had managed to roll to the side and slip into the shadows once more, and the two knights, filled with the energy and adrenaline of the charge, drew their blades and wheeled, ready to face down whoever got in their way.
Noirceuil cried out in frustration, turning to face this new danger with a snarl. He hesitated, wanting to leap on Fleurette and ignoring the knights, but at the same time wanting to charge them head on. The decision was made moot seconds later when Montrovant appeared behind the two, Le Duc at his side.
It took only seconds for the dark one to assess the situation, and he drove his mount forward quickly, letting the animal’s shoulder strike Noirceuil a solid blow and send him stumbling into the shadows. The hunter did not go down, and he managed a quick, deadly swipe of sharp claws over Fleurette’s face as he passed, but the blow was glancing, and she stepped away easily, turning toward the trees. Le Duc intercepted her, pulling her up short, and though she tried to leap back the other way, St. Fond appeared behind her, blade drawn.
Noirceuil slipped into the darkness surrounding them with a cry of rage.
“He isn’t gone,” Montrovant called out. The dark one shifted about the clearing, taking in the signs of struggle, then glanced for a moment at the girl.
“There is another. Stay close. Whatever you do, don’t get out of sight of one another, and don’t get too close to the shadows.”
He moved then, very quickly, dismounting and making his way to Fleurette’s side. He swept his gaze up and down her quickly, taking in her young form, the depth of her eyes, and the cool, unwavering strength of her gaze.
“How long?” he asked her softly.
She did not answer, only returned his gaze. He moved closer, reaching as if to touch her shoulder, then pulling up short.
“How long since your Embrace?”
She still didn’t answer, and a cry from the surrounding trees brought a soft curse to Montrovant’s lips. He leaped to the side, plunging into the darkness, and Le Duc took several steps to follow. In that instant, when their attention was diverted, she was gone. St. Fond and du Puy stared at one another in consternation, but they did not give chase. Montrovant’s word was law, and they were in no hurry to find out what it was that the dark one feared in the shadows. Better to have at least a bit of open ground on which to fight.
Montrovant and Le Duc moved from opposite sides and found Noirceuil locked with Abraham, one of whose arms hung limp at his side. The hunter had him pinned against a tree, but could not seem to gather the strength for a killing blow. Montrovant reined in, watching for a moment, then spun quickly.
“Now,” the dark one said softly. “Now is the time.”
Without another word he plunged toward the cliff. Le Duc, used to such shifts, followed the dark one’s lead, l
eaving the two vampires to end their struggle as they might. The cliff rose above them moments later, stark and impassable, but before Jeanne could comment on this, Montrovant was on his feet, then on his knees, moving toward the low opening in the stone wall.
It was a cave. There was an opening in the wall, and Jeanne smiled, dropping quickly from the saddle to follow. Montrovant was already disappearing into that black hole when Le Duc dropped to the ground and slid from the clearing, leaving his horse, his belongings, and probably his existence behind.
“Where does it lead?” he asked hoarsely.
“In and up,” Montrovant replied tersely. “Did you see them, Jeanne? That was Abraham, the one I left to die at the keep, and the girl was no more than a week to the blood, and yet they were strong. Their blood was powerful, different.”
“The Order,” Jeanne breathed.
“Yes,” Montrovant replied, “and this is the only way they could have come so quickly back from that Order. I sensed the horses of those other two, the hunters, here by the wall and guessed what I would find. If they had come down the trail, it is we they would have met, not that strange one.”
“Why did you come here and not remain to help the others?” Jeanne asked, a twinge of guilt tugging at his heart.
“Your words,” Montrovant grunted, sliding quickly deeper into the mountain. “Kodesh would expect me to fight. That one was a hunter, and from the glance I had at the equipment on his mount, sent by Rome. He hunts his own, Jeanne. Kli Kodesh knows this will anger me, and I’m hoping that he is counting on it keeping me busy for a while. I turned away from the battle because it is the last thing I wanted to do. We will soon see if I am right, or if, once again, he has played me for a fool.”
Jeanne grinned into the shadows, and followed. They soon came to the first, open portal and slid through it. Jeanne hesitated, thinking of closing it behind himself, then shrugged. Once they were inside, it did not matter who followed. If others came behind and caused more of a stir, they might make for a good distraction when one was needed.
To Dream of Dreamers Lost: Book 3 of The Grails Covenant Trilogy Page 19